Honoris Certamen Book 1: Those Who Remain
by Una
Summary: Set after FARTHEST MAN FROM HOME a RAF unit is caught up in the war with the Chigs in the battle of the Procyon region and they all find out what it feels like to remain
1. Prologue and Chapter One

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of 'Space: Above and Beyond' depicted in this story are legal property of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Hard Eight Production and 20th Century Fox Television and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement intended. 

Additionally, I used parts of Rupert Brooke's poem 'The Soldier', the poem 'Dreamers' by Siegfried Sassoon and 'What shall you say?' by Joseph Seamus Cotter without permission. Again, no copyright infringement intended. This story and the characters of the number 72 RAF squadron are purely fictional and legal property of the author. This story is not open for distribution or sale in either fanzines, ftp-sites or elsewhere without the permission of the author. 

Author's notes: 'Those Who Remain' is not directly linked to the Wild Cards but nevertheless it is part of the 'S:AAB'- universe. It's a prequel to my own 'A Class Of Its Own' where Megan Chambers and mention of her old 'tank' squad, the number 72, first appeared. 

Secondly, I have invented two new air/spacecraft for the *Brits*:   
STCV - Space Transport Cargo Vehicles; BC-48 - also known as [Spitfires][1] or Spitties, they look like hammerheads but without the prominent nose. 

Special thanks to my beta-readers Kate K. and Werrf who helped me with their comments & Wiena and Jessica for telling me to finish the story. 

Very special thanks to Group Captain Connor 'Con-Man' MacDougal, RAF and his 'the sun shining gently down on Ty's face'. 

Comments are welcome at _[USMCSpace@gmx.net][2]_

PG-13 rated, for explicit language and war time violence 

* * *

Those Who Remain

**by**

**Una**

  


Soldiers are citizen's of death's grey land,  
Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows.  
In the great hour of destiny they stand,  
Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.  
Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win  
Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives.  
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin  
They think of firelit homes, clean beds and wives.

Siegfried Sassoon, Collected Poems 1908 - 1956; 'Dreamers' 

To Connor & all men and women in the armed forces who remained

* * *

**Prologue**

Earth - Harmsville, Maine 2053

It was a beautiful summer day and Lieutenant T.C. McQueen bent back his silver shot head and closed his eyes, the sun shining gently down onto his face. He listened to the soft twittering of the birds and for once he felt at peace with himself. About three months ago he had been able to escape from the AI-POW camp and ever since he had been haunted by the atrocities he had witnessed and experienced there. He still had to come to terms with what had happened during those seven weeks. 

The young man sighed and creased his nose. No-one could understand what it had meant to be an In-Vitro in a silicate POW camp and only the help of his old friend Glenn Ross had kept him sane. Ross had talked him through his crazy fits after the torture sessions of the AIs and his friend's voice and the images which it created in Ty's mind had helped him to keep fighting. 

After his release from the hospital, Ross had told him that Ray Chambers, an old friend of both of them, had invited him to stay and despite his uneasiness about how he would act around Chambers' children, the visit had soothed both his troubled thoughts and the pain. 

Even now, as he had sneaked out of the comfortable house, he felt peace seeping into his body, not easing but dulling the pain and humiliation he felt. The war seemed far away at this peaceful moment and Ty was determined to keep it that way. 

"Uncle Mac!" the voice of a small child carried far through the warm summer air and Ty reluctantly opened his eyes and looked out over the slope of the hill on which he was resting. Despite the disturbance he had to smile as a young girl of ten years scrambled up the slope. 

"Take it easy, Meg," he said softly, wondering again why he felt so protective towards this child who wasn't even from his batch. Her father, Lieutenant Colonel Ray Chambers, had been his CO at the beginning of the AI-rebellion and since he had saved Chambers' life during a black Op, they were like brothers. Well, sort of, anyway, considering that both men were In-Vitroes. 

The girl had reached him breathlessly and slumped down beside him. It amazed Ty again and again that a child with such an angelic face could be a rascal sometimes, especially when she rounded up her two older brothers. 

"Daddy said you needed a rest, so I brought you these books," she gasped and pulled several books from her rucksack. "You lie back and I'll read to you ..." 

Ty watched her in awe. Over the last years, when he had been able to visit the Chambers', he had been under the especial care of Meg and he had listened to her tiny voice as she had read children's books to him. 

"Do you want to read 'Wind In The Willows' to me again?" he asked in mock dismay. He was sure that he could recite the lines by heart now and despite his more classical preference for books he had grown to like Ratty and Mole. 

"No," Megan said and her dark bangs bobbed around her small face when she shook her head vigorously. "I brought you Musaeus. Mum told me you liked his so ... sonnies ..." she screwed up her face when she didn't get it right. 

"Sonnets, Meg," Ty helped her out. "But don't you think that it's a bit too difficult for you to read?" 

"So what?" Megan asked in a challenging tone. McQueen was at a loss at that. Megan had a way to run straight through his defences, leaving him with no words to explain. Just like her father. Although she was natural born, she had inherited the quick wit of her genetically created father, thus combining the instincts of the In-Vitro with those of a natural born child in her small body and mind. The little girl sighed dramatically and opened the small volume of poetry. As she started reading, calmness enwrapped the Lieutenant and soon he found himself enjoying her efforts to pronounce and intone the poem properly. 

After the melancholic ending, Megan closed the book and put it away. 

"What a sad ending," Megan whispered, deeply in thoughts. "Do you think that Hero died of heart-break?" 

Ty McQueen shrugged his shoulders and rolled onto his stomach. He could still feel the magic power of the Greek poem and her stumbling over the words as she had read them to him had not impaired the beauty of the tale about Hero and her lover Leander. 

"It is possible," he replied slowly, watching her intently as she started picking at the daisies. Normally, she did not fidget around when she was with him, so Ty knew she was bothered by something. He sat up and looked at her intently. 

"What's wrong, Meg?" he asked softly, gently prying her chin up. Dark-brown eyes, huge as pools, looked at him and he could see tears welling up inside. 

"Dad said you'll be going off soon. I don't want you to go, Uncle Mac. I don't want you to go to this war again ..." her voice quivered dangerously and she threw her small arms around his neck. "I don't want you to die ..." Ty tensed for a moment before he relaxed against the small body of the child. He had always been disturbed by the cuddles she and her brothers had demanded of him, but over the years he had grown used to it, even enjoying their trust in him. When he was with Megan and the others of the Chambers' family, he did not feel like a freak. A genetically created monster, a tank, a nippleneck. 

"Shh," he said slowly and rocked the child gently but somewhat awkwardly in his arms. "Meg, I'm not going to die. But a lot people will if I stay with you. I'm a Marine, I have to go away now and then!" he tried to argue and to his surprise her sobs died down and she looked up at him. Wiping her nose noisily, she sat back against his chest and sighed. 

"Then I'll become a soldier when I grow up," the small girl replied seriously. "And I will look after you and all the other IVs..." 

At that moment, Tyrus McQueen had no doubt that she would turn that serious statement into action. 

* * *

Chapter One 

Procyon Sector, 2063   
Ten years later

The tavern of the British space craft carrier _HMS Wellington_ was overcrowded by pilots and ground personnel alike who were watching the broadcast of a Rugby game. The young Flight Lieutenant who had entered the bar shook her head as the yelling spectators cheered loudly when their Rugby team had scored a conversion. The dark-haired woman had never fully understood why the Air Force personnel liked the broadcasts of games which had taken place months ago back on Earth but then again she was not a real Brit as some of her flight officers always liked to point out to her. Perhaps they were right, she never had been eager to participate in any sports, although her brothers and also her American father enjoyed a good game of cricket and football either as spectators or players. 

Flight Lieutenant Megan Louise Chambers picked up her coke and went over to one of the deserted tables on the far side of the huge TV-screen. More than once she picked up curious glances and snide remarks from the nearby tables but she ignored them. 

Being the honcho of an 'all-tank' squadron, she had soon found herself on the receiving end of bar fights and disdainful jokes. But the more she had to put up with, the more she was determined to keep a stiff upper lip. As the child of an In-Vitro and a natural born mother, she had learned early to fight for her rights but sometimes she felt incredibly tired. 

About two years ago she had been promoted to Flight Lieutenant of the number 7-2 squadron. At first she had been thrilled for she was the youngest officer promoted to Flight Lieutenant and finding an assignment during peace times was always something precious, especially when one had joined the RAF with the prospect of a career in mind, but soon she had found out why she had been chosen in particular. Many COs had been asked to take command of that particular squadron but many natural borns had refused to work with tanks. Especially these tanks! 

It was no secret that one of the female officers preferred women and that two others were having a steamy affair. Back then Chambers had asked herself if Strike-Command had thought she would fit in there given her family background. At first she had been angry about this decision but after a while she had been determined to make the best out of it, and the In-Vitroes had not let her down. 

_Like the musketeers_, Megan thought. _One for all and all for one_! 

After two years of constant quarrels and bar fights with other squadrons they had formed a tight bond and she was proud to be their commanding officer. 

Her head jerked up when she noticed a movement in her peripheral vision and from the commotion in the tavern she knew that her squadron had arrived. 

"Ma'am?" Flying Officer Anne Thurston inquired and standing to attention with the rest of the squadron in front of their commanding officer. 

"As you were, people," Meg said and waved her hand at the vacant seats. The number 7-2 squadron assembled around their CO, careful not to draw any more attention onto themselves as they already had. 

_Speaking of which_, Megan thought and rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. Every time her squadron made an appearance like that they had everyone's attention immediately. During the AI wars it had been standard procedure that IV squadrons wore black uniforms in the British Forces, distinguishing them immediately from the NBs. Back then it had been a means of humiliating IVs even more but about three years ago they had been banned as standard issue Airforce gear. Her squadron, though, had deliberately chosen the black uniforms and given them a new meaning: They were tanks, they were mean and they were the best and their long list of flown sorties and successful Ops had earned them the nickname Dark Knights. 

"I heard rumours about a new assignment, boss," James Woolfe said and ducked his head. He was a tall man, with the perfect physique of a tank created for war-fare. But although his body was that of a twenty-eight year old, he still had the shy attitude of a boy coming to age. 

"I still can't understand that a big hulk like you can eavesdrop so easily," Anne Thurston commented and tossed the short bob of her blonde hair. Thurston was Megan's second in command, a good pilot and always ready to make fun of her fellow crewmen. 

"Well, I just heard it, alright?!" Woolfe retorted defiantly and received a wide round of grins from his friends. He always fell for Thurston's little ploys of teasing him. "Anyway, rumour's out that we'll be assigned to a transport sortie here in the Procyon sector ..." 

"Oh, no!" Andrew Fuller groaned and shook his head. "Instead of giving us such a boring Op, they could keep us grounded for good. We are RAF not some transport personnel ..." 

Fuller was a short man, belying the fact that he was a tank as well. But unlike Thurston and Woolfe, he had been genetically designed to be a technician. The House of Commons had given In-Vitroes full first class membership in the Commonwealth in 2058, so after his decanting he had opted to join the Royal Air Force instead of staying on the servitude contract with his gestation facility. More than once Meg had relied on his abilities as a techie but she knew that he was a jet-jockey through and through. 

The fourth tank in their group was Patricia Carter, a shy and somewhat introverted woman. Pat, as she was called by her friends, was pretty and some thought of her as the crew mascot but Megan knew that despite her soft, innocent looks she was a good shot and she pitied every idiot who dismissed her as not dangerous. 

"Whatever sortie they have assigned us to, it's better than staying grounded," Megan sighed and sipped her drink. 

The TV-screen had been switched off after the game had ended and the spectators filed slowly to the bar to get a refill of their glasses. Fuller anxiously eyed the door and moved uncomfortably on his chair. The last time they had been here, the 22nd squadron of the Royal Marines had thought it funny to bash a few heads, especially tank heads. Before Chambers or Woolfe had noticed that Andrew was in trouble he had received several blows to his head and a broken rib. 

Pat patted his hand reassuringly when she noticed his nervousness. 

"Relax, Shorty," she purred and Andrew flashed her a devilish grin. Woolfe and Chambers exchanged a glance with each other and the big tank rolled his eyes, his face blushing deeply. Thurston on the other hand clucked her tongue and made a cat sound. 

It was an open secret that Carter and Fuller were more than just friends but as it wasn't a chain-of-command-thing Megan was determined to keep her mouth shut. 

But at the moment she had other things on her mind which demanded her immediate attention. The 22nd squadron RM had taken over a table nearby and from the disdainful, almost challenging looks the young woman knew they were in for a trashing. 

_Not if I can help it_, Megan thought and drowned the last of her coke. 

"Hey, there's our tank-brat with her brood," one of the Marines said loud enough for everyone else to hear. "Stratton, do you think they're doing each other after lights out?" 

"Yeah, Clive," the man called Stratton replied. "They're probably doing orgies all through the night with Chambers being shagged by both the dyke and the big tank ..." 

Wolf whistles were heard from the rest of the 22nd squadron and Megan could feel Woolfe and Thurston tensing at her side. 

"I learned at school that tanks are well-equipped, it wouldn't be any fun to have a screw with any of the women ..." 

Megan shook her head when Thurston wanted to charge against the drunken Marines. Slowly, she stood up and before she walked over to the table of the Marines, she put a hand on Woolfe's shoulder. 

"Be prepared, in case I need you!" She whispered and greeted the Marines with a brilliant smile. Anne began to chuckle despite the more than derogatory remarks and hid her grin behind her hands. Every time their CO smiled like that she knew the recipient was in deep trouble. 

"Interesting," Chambers commented, giving the Marines a thorough once over. "And I learned at school that scum like you hadn't even the brains to utter guttural sounds ..." 

"You stupid tank bitch!" The man called Clive sneered and waved her away dismissively. But Megan did not let it go at that. She was used to derogatory remarks about herself but every time one of _her_ tanks was insulted, she really was riled up. She grabbed the man's shoulder and yanked him around in his seat. 

"Listen, SOB, I don't care what you call me because I've heard more names than you can ever come up with. But if you ever breathe as much as a word against my squadron I'll kick the shit outta ya. UNDERSTOOD?" she hissed coldly in the widest American drawl she had ever learned from her father. Clive watched her for a moment then grinned. 

"Yeah, you and who else, YANK?" he inquired arrogantly and was received with laughter from his friends. Supported thus he even tried to push his luck harder. "You know, Chambers, when you get all hot and flustered like this it gets a man thinking ... Perhaps we should find a nice, quiet place just for the two of us ..." 

Megan actually laughed at that, shaking her head. It seemed as if she wanted to end the discussion and turned halfway away from the table and Clive was receiving loud congratulations from his friends, when Megan turned around in a flash and kicked his chair away. The Marine landed flat on his backside. The Marine closest to Chambers made a grab at her and she dodged the incoming fist directed at her face and landed a good punch into the man's stomach. 

But, to Megan's surprise, the Marine didn't so much as flinch. When he stood up she almost gaped at him. This guy was about six feet eight, as far as she dared to estimate. 

_Oh no_, she thought, fighting the urge to close her eyes. Now she was in for a beating. The Marine grinned at her. 

"You want to try one of us for a good screw?" he asked and when Megan snorted at that he backhanded her across the face which sent her flying into another table. 

"You bastard!" Woolfe growled and threw his almost two hundred pounds solid against the smirking Marine. They toppled over and Megan jumped to her feet to avoid being crushed beneath them. 

"You alright, boss?" Fuller asked breathlessly. He had Stratton in a deadly choke hold and Megan had to laugh at his concerned voice. 

"Aye!" she shouted as she high kicked into a smaller Marine who was holding Pat to the ground. The Marine turned and wanted to charge her but he hesitated for a moment. To have a fight with a lower ranking tank officer was one thing, but starting a brawl with an equal another different matter. Megan on the other hand had no such scruples. 

"Quit gaping, Captain," Meg said and landed her fist dead center onto the jaw of Captain Jamieson of the 22nd Royal Marines Squadron. The man toppled over and she helped Pat to her feet. 

"Ta, boss," Patty said and both women ran over to Thurston who was being manhandled by Clive. 

"C'mon, tank, you'll like to have us," the Marine grunted and tackled Thurston from behind, squeezing her breasts by doing so. 

"Get your blasted hands off, you nitwit!" Anne yelled and with a sudden jab of her arm she sent the man flying over her shoulder. The Marine crashed into a table nearby and soon he was received with another series of punches from objective bystanders. To tackle a woman to get his hands on her, even if that woman was a dyke, was against the principles of the RAF Corps. 

As Chambers and Thurston were doing a high-five, Megan was intercepted by a punch into her kidneys and she almost jack-knifed to her knees. She swung her small fist around and caught the female Marine unawares, flooring her with a perfect left. 

None of the combatants had noticed that Air Commodore H.C. Coulthard had entered the tavern, paying one of his rare visits. Seeing the Marines fighting with the tank squadron again, he went for the nearest fighters immediately. Yanking the tall Marine off Woolfe's back and sending him to the floor with so much as the flick of his hand, he reached out to restrain the tank. 

"Woolfe!" Anne yelled as she witnessed the In Vitro raising his fist against their Commodore. 

Alerted by the shout, Megan threw herself between the two men. Woolfe's fist, intended to flag his alleged attacker, crashed onto the side of her temple and the young woman went down to the floor. For a split second Woolfe stared at her, at the Commodore and then back at his CO. 

"Shit, boss!" Woolfe said and squatted down beside Megan. Carefully, those big hands examined the woman's head and touched the rapidly swelling bruise at her temple. Two MPs came in and the Commodore directed them towards the Marines. 

"Take them to the brigs!" he bellowed and squatted beside the big In-Vitro and the still unconscious Flight Lieutenant. 

"Sir, she'll be alright?" Woolfe asked and Coulthard's head snapped up. 

"This blow could have killed her ..." he hissed but stopped abruptly. It was no good to put a heavy guilt trip onto this boy. Casualties always happened in bar-fights. The Commodore looked up and saw three anxious looking faces and as always Coulthard wondered why Strike-Command had agreed to establish an 'all-tank' squadron. 

_They were just kids_, he thought. _Kids in grown-up bodies_. 

"Get her up!" the Commodore bellowed and the remaining four rushed to help their honcho to her feet. Chambers groaned but she didn't open her eyes. 

"Steady, Meg!" Anne said and put an arm around her hip. The Commodore watched as the number 7-2 looked after their CO. He shook his head when he saw that they wanted to walk her to their quarters. 

"Tanks," he muttered beneath his breath. Put them into a combat sit and they knew exactly what they had to do but as soon as they were confronted with an unconscious woman they behaved like a fish out of water. 

"Woolfe, you pick her up and get her to the infirmary. NOW!" he ordered quickly, then turned around to the rest of the number 7-2. "YOU STAY PUT!" 

Still shaking his head when he watched Woolfe as he scurried Chambers off to the infirmary, he scratched his bald head beneath the cap. 

_Lord, if the fist of the tank had hit its intended target, he would be unconscious like Chambers_. Coulthard shook his head again and turned to the remaining members of the number 7-2 squadron. 

"Anybody who wants to enlighten me on this one?" the Commodore bellowed and the Flying Officers stood to attention in front of him. He waited and slowly, he walked down their line-up. 

"Sir," Fuller started, eyeing the Commodore nervously. "We were forced to defend the honour of the RAF, Sir!" 

"Defending the honour of the RAF by attacking ROYAL MARINES, Flying Officer Fuller?" Coulthard yelled, a vein protruding from his forehead. 

"Sir, one Flying Officer overheard a derogatory remark made by one of the Marines, Sir," Carter said. "We did what every RAF officer would have done when the Airforce is belittled, Sir!" 

Coulthard almost smiled at that - almost. But he had to admit that Chambers had done a good job. Instead of shoving the codex of the RAF down their throats she had let them figure out for themselves what it meant to wear the wings of the RAF. 

"You should be grounded for that one, pilots," the Commodore said. "But you have an Op to execute. Briefing is at 0700 hours tomorrow morning. DISMISSED!" 

He watched as the pilots hurriedly left the tavern and he let off a small chuckle. 

_Defending the honour of the RAF indeed_, he thought. _Chambers had probably defended the honour of her tanks again! This woman could be as ferocious as a lioness when her squadron was concerned_. 

* * *

Dr. Thomas sighed and shook her head. Ever since the number 7-2 had invaded her infirmary, she had to keep from laughing. Watching the sheepish looking faces of those seasoned pilots as her staff had taken care of their bruises and split lips, she had to admit that they looked more like children than RAF pilots. But when they had started arguing with her how to treat their CO, she had become more than a little annoyed with these brats. 

_Enough was enough_, she thought. 

"Leave your CO some air to breathe," Thomas said. "Time's up anyway. You have been taken care of and your CO needs some rest from your hollering! Tomorrow morning she'll be alive and kicking again but now it's lights out for Flight Lieutenant Chambers." 

"We'll be really quiet, ma'am," Anne Thurston said, still reluctant to leave Chambers but Dr. Thomas shook her head. 

"Your CO needs a rest. And if you don't leave her now, I'll keep her grounded here for the rest of the night!" Dr. Thomas stated firmly but she fell silent when the woman on the bed groaned. 

The infirmary was cast in blinding lights or so Chambers thought as she opened her eyes. Four faces were hovering on either side of her and for a moment she didn't know what had happened to her. Then she remembered the bar fight. 

"Uh, uh, what happened?" Megan asked confused. 

"Oh, Woolfe floored you," Andrew said, flashing the big IV a mocking look. "He thought you sporting a black eye would increase your way with men ..." 

Meg threw him a stern look, then turned to look at Woolfe who avoided her eyes. 

"Sorry," he murmured sheepishly, his voice blurred. His upper lip had been split and was swollen. 

After she had given all of her pilots a good once over, she tried to smile. All of them looked beaten and torn but their wide grins on their faces told her that they had won. 

"Do I look as bad as you?" she asked. 

"Nay," Patricia said and flinched when she moved awkwardly towards the bed. "The Marines look even worse than us ..." 

"That's good!" Megan replied and grinned. 

Dr. Thomas shook her head again and stepped forward. 

"Time's up!" she ordered and half leading, half pushing the pilots, she escorted them out of the infirmary. 

* * *

It was dark in the bunk room as Woolfe slowly slipped off his bunk. Chambers was sleeping on her bed, a faint night-light glowing above her head. Careful not to wake the others the young man lowered his tall body onto the floor beside her bunk and rested his cheek against the sheets. 

All through the evening he had had to keep up with the stupid but friendly remarks of his crew-mates but he still felt bad about hitting Chambers. 

The young man closed his eyes. 

_The Commodore had been right. His fist could have killed Chambers_, he thought. If he hadn't been warned by Thurston's yell, he would have put much more force behind his blow, probably smashing her skull to smithereens and thinking about it made him sick. Chambers was something like a mother to him, always there when he needed her and thinking that he might have killed her because he could not control his strength made him mad. 

Ever since she had become the honcho of the number 7-2 he had looked up to her, or rather down as he was head and shoulders taller than Chambers but nevertheless she had a way to make him feel like a small child when she yelled at him every time he had screwed up again. 

The young tank was so deeply engrossed in his thoughts that he almost missed the soft caress of a hand going through his short hair and when he looked up he saw Chambers' bent head above him. 

"What are you doing here, Woolfe? You should be in bed," she chided him softly. 

"I wanted to make sure, you're alright," Woolfe whispered and rubbed his cheek against her outstretched palm and Megan caressed him. 

_He's a child_, she reminded herself. _A child in a big body, a child who had seen more atrocities in his ten years of living than she could ever fathom_. Soon after she had become his commanding officer she had looked through his file and those of the others and what she had discovered about his life before he had joined the RAF had made her sick to the stomach. 

James Woolfe, gene-pool 17D, Gamma 4743, had been decanted at a military gestation facility in the north of London in 2053. It had been one of those short peacetime interludes and the military had not needed a genetically created killer and he had been released from the facility to indentured servitude at the Sellafield Nuclear Plant. There, the real tragedy had begun. The few natural born workers had treated the tanks like scum and the young man had been their toy boy for a long time. When he had finally joined the Airforce after he had been able to buy himself off the contract with the nuke plant, he had had nightmares about this awful time and it had been Megan who had held him, comforted him when he had woken up, crying like a small child, his comrades staring at them helplessly. 

"I'm alright," she said softly. 

"Chambers?" he asked and Megan mumbled in reply. 

"I'm sorry that I hit you, you know I wouldn't do that on purpose ..." 

"I know, James. I would be pretty daft if I thought otherwise, wouldn't I? Go, get some sleep!" 

He knew that she used his first name only on rare occasions and tonight was one of them. He looked up and ducked his head slightly. Megan had closed her eyes again and he knew he was dismissed. 

"Good night," he said as he stood up. 

"Good night," Megan replied and she gave him a pat to send him on his way to his bunk. 

  


  


   [1]: http://www.fanficflightdeck.space-readyroom.de/ships.html#spitties
   [2]: mailto:USMCSpace@gmx.net



	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

HMS Wellington Orientation Room 0800 Zulu

When Air Commodore Coulthard entered the O-room the next morning he not only had done almost all of his paperwork beforehand, he had also been given a full report of what had led to the bar-room brawl in the tavern last night. He had grounded the Marines in the brigs for two weeks and put a reprimand into their files indefinitely. He had been angry at first but after he had seen the damage the Dark Knights had inflicted on the Marines, he had wondered again if the rumours about the anti-social behaviour of tanks were true. 

"Attention!" Chambers called and the squadron snapped to attention. 

"As you were," Coulthard waved his hand dismissively and took his stand on the lectern, eyeing each of the bruised pilots closely. "Well-well, you certainly made a spectacle of yourselves last night!" 

Megan stepped forward 

"Sir, this officer admits to have the sole responsibility for what happened, Sir," she said firmly. "The number 7-2 just came to the aid of this officer when she was attacked at her own instigation by the Marines." 

"Is that so, Flight Lieutenant? From what I heard you not only instigated the bashing of the Marines, you deliberately floored their CO as well ..." 

"Sir, I ... am sorry, Sir!" Megan replied, blushing deeply and Coulthard almost laughed out loud, but he caught himself and let out a stifled cough. Cpt. Jamieson had been a constant pain in the arse since he and his squadron had turned up on the Wellington and he had considered straightening him out. 

"I got a full report of what happened just after reveille, squadron Leader. So don't you ever think you can fool me ..." Coulthard said. "I don't accept disgraceful behaviour, neither from those Marines nor from you." He watched the faces of the pilots and he shook his head slightly. Carter was sporting the blackest eye he had ever seen and the young flight officer held herself awkwardly. Chambers still wore a dressing on her temple and besides the blue-green swelling underneath it, she had also several scratches down her left cheek. Fuller looked as if he had tried to run into a wall head first for his face was black and blue as well. The only two who looked not as dishevelled as the others were Thurston and Woolfe but having read the infirmary report, he knew that Thurston had a fractured rib and Woolfe, beside his split lip, had got a sprained wrist. 

_God, they were so young. They shouldn't even be here,_ Coulthard thought. But nevertheless he had to teach them some manners. 

"You are grounded to your quarters for two weeks, except for sorties and mealtimes and if something like this ever happens again, you are grounded for good, UNDERSTOOD?" 

"SIR! YES, SIR!" the pilots replied in unison. 

"Good, now that this is out of the way, can we commence, ladies and gentlemen?! You've an Op to execute!" Coulthard sighed as he watched the pilots take their seats and he switched on the holo-map. 

"As you can see Fleet-Com plans to stage a counterattack on the Chigs here in the Procyon Sector. You have been assigned to a transport Op. You must ensure that supplies to the fleet will arrive. Your flight corridor will lead you between those two moons here," two blue globes appeared on the holo screen. "Acheron and Erinys both have breathable atmosphere and a gravity similar to Earth, so you have to fly on point to point co-ordinates to avoid the gravity pull from either ..." Coulthard's voice drawled on. The whole squadron felt fidgety and more than once Megan asked herself if the names of the moons were a sign of foreboding. Acheron and Erinys were Greek and from what she could remember from her godfather's poems, Acheron was a river in Hades and Erinys was the name of an avenging deity. 

"Sir, it is very unlikely that one squadron of Spitties could cover such a big supply fleet, Sir," Andrew Fuller said and Megan forced her mind back onto the impending mission. 

"Well, there will be three squadrons covering the supplies but you will be in one of the STCVs," Coulthard broke off when he heard the suppressed groan of the number 7-2. "I know you're fighter pilots, ladies and gentlemen, but you all have had training on the Space Transport Cargo Vehicles. And as you know these are old-fashioned spacecraft and they have to be flown by at least four pilots." He eyed each of the pilots closely. "Woolfe and Chambers you are the pilots while Fuller and Thurston are the board engineers and navigators. Carter, you will be operating the board sniper." 

"Sir," Megan Chambers stood up and snapped to attention immediately. "May I speak candidly and off the record, Sir?" 

The Commodore groaned inwardly, then he nodded. 

"Yes, Flight Lieutenant, you may speak off the record and ... at ease ..." 

"Sir, we're RAF not some Navy personnel. You know as well as I do that we'll be more than useful if we'd cover the supply fleet with our Spitties. Any Navy personnel can fly an STCV ..." 

"Anyone who was in active service during the AI wars, Flight Lieutenant," Coulthard cut in. "Those vessels are rarely used today and I'd rather have you as cover but you're the only squadron on the 'Wellington' whose members had full STCV training back at boot camp." 

"Understood, Sir," Chambers replied. 

* * *

Back at their bunk room, the number 7-2 checked their gear and Fuller briefed them on what they should take special care of. The Op would be executed 0545 sharp the next morning and Megan felt edgy. It had been true what Coulthard had said. They all had STCV training for they had been recruited during peacetime. Back then the main job of the RAF had been to cover convoys and to transport essential supplies to the various British colonies throughout the solar system, having become little more than a better equipped mail service at that time. 

The young woman groaned inwardly and watched her squadron as they sat at the table, bending their heads over some manuals Fuller had been able to dig up from the computer. 

"And I had thought that I wouldn't even see the back of one of those STCVs again," Pat groaned and rubbed the skin beneath her black eye wearily. "You know what they were called back at boot camp, don't you?" 

"Shit-tins cost velocity," all five people chimed in and they started laughing. The STCVs were known for their slow speed. Being RAF, real jet-jockeys, the outlook of riding such an old-fashioned vessel was depressing. 

"Do you still think that this Op is better than staying grounded, boss?" Fuller asked and shot his CO a questioning, somewhat ironic look. 

"Uh-oh, you got a point there, Andy," Megan replied. "Perhaps it's not the best thing to do, but, yes, it's definitely better than staying grounded!" 

The pilots laughed at that. Chambers was right. Over the passed days they had all been weary of being assigned to patrol flights only and a bit of action, even though minor, would liven their lives up a bit. And a point to point navigation on a STCV was a challenge, even for the number 7-2. 

After Andy and Pat had, against Coulthard's order, retreated to some private corner on board the Wellington, Meg lay on her bunk and read a favourite book. McQueen had sent it back to her with some remarks scribbled at the edge of each page and she was curious about his thoughts. She had not read for long, when Woolfe stepped over to her bunk. The young IV ducked his head to be able to look into her lower bunk and when Megan looked up from her book, he smiled shyly. 

"Can I ask you something?" he inquired and Megan nodded. 

"Yes, shoot," Meg said and made room for him on the bunk. 

Woolfe lowered his tall frame to the bed and rested his back against the wall. Megan waited patiently for she knew if Woolfe had something on his mind it took him a long time to get his words out. 

"I ..., uh," he stammered and shrugged his shoulders. "Ah, never mind!" He wanted to stand up but Meg held him back. 

"What's bothering you, James? Out with it!" Megan smirked when she noticed that she sounded just like a mother. 

"I can't understand why the NBs always pick on you? You're one of them and yet," he shrugged his shoulders. "It's not that I'm not used to their jokes and stuff but why do they always say those things about you?" 

Megan sighed softly and raised her knees to her chin. 

"Mmh, it's difficult to explain, James. You know, people have this strange conception about In-Vitroes. They are afraid of you because you're quicker, stronger and more resistant to illnesses, even though they created you to be that way. NBs envy you and they envy people like me as well. IVs were never created to procreate and yet some of you are able to have children like my father ..." 

"Yes, I know that but why are they always calling you names? You are our CO and they talk as if you, you know ..." 

Anne's head appeared from above as she looked down on them. 

"What he means is that they always make fun of you for being shagged by a tank dyke!" Anne said and wiggled her brows. "If only it were true!" 

"Anne, cut it out!" Megan said and watched as the young woman got lithely down to the ground and squeezed herself in between Woolfe and the back wall of the bunk. 

"But it's true, isn't it, Meg?" Anne asked. "The only thing they seem to think about is what we do after lights out! Every time we get into a bar fight it is because someone dropped some remarks about James' private parts or that you are being shagged by the both of us. It sucks!" 

Megan nodded her head at that. 

"NBs are like that. They heard rumours and most of them have a vivid imagination," Megan said and looked over to Woolfe. "You know, in former times Black people were in the same position as we're in now. It's just a human thing. After all those centuries of evolution it just comes down to ..." 

"SEX!" Anne cut in and grinned when she saw Woolfe uncomfortably squirming at that. "As I said this whole thing sucks. Those jerks with the petri-dishes just thought to create willing toys for their perverse fantasies." 

"Do me a favour and get laid, Thurston!" Woolfe growled angrily and Anne lowered her lids. She knew that this particular subject was a weak spot with Woolfe but try as she might she couldn't help bringing it up time and again. 

"I'm sorry, Woolfe," she said. "That was stupid of me!" She shot Megan a glance and the young CO gave her approval with a nod. 

"You see, James, it's human nature to make fun of others. Most people don't think, they just do and sometimes their words hurt ..." 

"I don't like that," James answered. "When I was in indentured servitude ... those guys, they did ... things and I ... I couldn't understand why. Last night the Marines sounded just like them, I got so angry because they don't know you. They don't know any one of us and yet they treat us like we've just come out of a dustbin!" 

"People always fear things they don't understand and they make fun of it, so no-one will know how scared they really are. In the last century, people like Jews and Blacks were made fun of. They were just like us, scapegoats and always on the receiving end of snide remarks and even pogroms. In the thirties of the last century, Nazis thought that Jews were second class citizens. They were rounded up and killed in specially designed camps. They had to work there until they died and then their bodies were used to make soap and other things ..." Meg broke off and Woolfe creased his nose. 

"So they were like us tanks? They were in servitude?" 

"Worse than that, James. They were free agents and yet they were put into these concentration camps, mothers were separated from their children, husbands from their wives and all those who were too young or too old to work were gassed ... I don't want to say that indentured servitude is a better treatment than that but those people had family, they knew who they were, they had a long family history. You have the chance to get off the contract after a few years but those people ... During the history of mankind things like that always happened. There were and always will be people who think they are better and more equal than others. Whites always thought they were superior to Blacks and all other races. Not a hundred years ago the Blacks in America had to fight for their rights to even be in the same room together with white people," Megan bent over and rummaged through the pocket beside her bed. Eventually she produced a small book, she opened it and began to read: 

"Brother, come! And let us go unto our God. And when we stand before Him I shall say - 'Lord, I do not hate, I am hated. I scourge no one, I am scourged. I covet no lands, my lands are coveted. I mock no peoples, my people are mocked'. And, brother, what shall you say?" 

All was silent for long moments after Megan had ended reading the poem aloud to James and Anne. Both In-Vitroes were deeply touched by the words and it was Woolfe who spoke first. 

"Will it ever change?" he asked shyly. "Will the NBs ever accept us as their kind?" 

"I don't know, James. It took them almost three hundred years to accept black people ..." 

  


  



	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three 

It only took Woolfe and Chambers a second to get used to the outdated cockpit appliances after they had strapped themselves into the seats of the STCV. Fuller and Thurston sat right behind them, switching on navigation and engineering. 

The cockpit looked almost like one of those big air planes Megan had seen on a school trip at the Science Museum in London a few years back. She and Woolfe went through the pre-flight check-list, switching on the data bars as they ticked off each item. 

"I once saw this old movie, you know with real actors, and this movie was about some star wars or something," Thurston said and bent her head forward between the two front seats. "Those actors did pretty much the same you two are doing right now ..." 

"No wonder," Megan said and ticked off another point on her list. "The STCVs are very much like the first endo-exo shuttles from the late nineties and early tens," she broke off and shot Anne a wary glance. 

She knew that Thurston liked old-fashioned movies and she took every opportunity to retell the stories of the films in every detail. 

"And hey, Thurston, I saw that film as well and if you start telling this stupid story I'm going to flag you, alright?" 

Anne smirked at that and nodded her head. 

"Whatever you say, you're the boss!" she said, still grinning to herself. 

"Why was it a stupid story?" Woolfe inquired, sounding interested and Anne stifled a chuckle when Megan groaned quietly. 

"It was one of those stupid science-fiction films humans liked back in the eighties and nineties! Like the one you saw last month. People fighting some weird looking guys in black helmets and arguing about whether it is humane to kill or not, that kind of stuff ..." 

"In a combat sit?" Woolfe asked in surprise and Andrew laughed at that. 

"Aye, you stupid egghead. In the 20th century people got a thrill out of it, thinking that they were the only race in space who would be on friendly terms with other Aliens ..." 

"And look where that did lead us ..." Megan replied and switched on the com. 

"SPACECOM, this is number seven-two squadron, Dark Knight Leader speaking, request for take off," she announced and the com-channel gave off a loud disturbing noise. The pilots flinched at that and Megan yanked off the headset angrily. 

"Lord, by now they should have repaired the com-glitch!" she growled before she put the headset back on, carefully adjusting the volume. 

"Dark Knight Leader, this is SPACECOM," came the voice of the NAV officer of the Wellington. "Your request for take off is granted, initiating the hydraulic lift. Good Luck!" 

"Roger and out!" Chambers replied and together with Woolfe she started the engines of the STCV, completing the procedure as the hydraulic platform finished lifting it up onto the flight deck. 

* * *

Slowly, the STCV took off from the flight deck and the pilots steered it away from the dreadnought. As they advanced towards the waiting fleet of STCVs, they listened to the skipchatter of the other pilots, all complaining about the outdated panels in the cockpits. 

When they were given the thumbs up for their departure, three squadrons of BC-48 endo-exo attack jets, Spitfires, rocketed across the supply fleet, giving them back up. The pilots of the number 7-2 in fact looked forward to the point to point navigation, having no problems. 

Meg sat back in the uncomfortable seat and watched the stars. The fleet was an impressive sight and Megan enjoyed the beauty of it. She had been fascinated with space Since she was a child and she had always envied her father and Colonel McQueen who had been jet-jockeys all their lives. But right now, she felt happy with the dark velvet of space all around her. She belonged here, just like the stars. Even the war could not impair the beauty of it and she was reminded of some words she had read a long time ago. It had been during one of McQueen's rare visits and she had been interested in the ancient Red Indian cultures. For long hours they had discussed philosophical and theological issues but every time they had returned to the universe and what it meant for the both of them. She had always enjoyed those talks with the Angry Angel. 

Megan closed her eyes and smiled. James Woolfe turned his head slightly and shot her a questioning glance. 

"Day-dreaming again?" he asked and Megan opened her eyes and met his level gaze. It always amazed her again and again that despite his own lack of social and emotional comprehension, he had an intuitive understanding towards others. 

She flashed him a smile and nodded. 

"Could be..." she answered and checked the displays. Only forty mikes before they would reach the battle fleet. When she looked at the HUD and LIDAR she didn't notice anything amiss at first but suddenly two unidentified blips appeared and she drew in her breath. 

"Convoy Leader, this is Dark Knight One, have two bogeys on seven and eight," she announced over the com and looked at Woolfe. 

The young In-Vitro answered her stern look and switched on the weapon's systems. 

"Ready to tango?" he asked and Megan shivered at his cold voice for a moment. 

"Yes, ready and prepared!" she answered. 

The convoy scattered while the Spitties turned on the advancing enemy. 

Woolfe counted more than fifteen bogeys on his LIDAR and he shook his head when he saw that the Spittie pilots were soon outnumbered. 

"Lord," he heard Andrew whispering softly and Woolfe turned his head slightly. 

"What's up?" he asked. 

Andrew turned towards him and flicked off the com. 

"The Chigs have changed attack plans..." the young man said and suddenly almost all eyes were on him. 

"Meaning?" Megan inquired matter of factly but she dreaded his answer. As far as she could tell there were more enemy ships advancing. 

"We are right in the middle of their attack line..." Andrew answered sombrely. 

For a short moment all four pilots looked at each other until Megan's mind was called back to the LIDAR again. 

Three hive ships were rapidly coming their way. 

"Alright, Carter," she said over the com to her sniper. "Take out as much as possible. It's either them or us..." 

"Roger, boss," Pat Carter replied, a definite edge to her voice. 

* * *

The first wave of attack came for most of the STCVs unprepared, a lot of the pilots were greenhorns, right out of flight-training and more than once Megan and James had to dodge other STCVs rather than enemy fire. 

The handling of the ship was sluggish, and both pilots had a hard time manoeuvring. The Spitties were dashing to and fro between the STCVs and the attacking enemy ships, but their laser fire didn't do much damage. 

Several STCVs had scattered to the far left of the Dark Knights' craft and their laser guns were shooting off fire in wild disarray. Suddenly the STCV shuddered and Carter and Thurston screamed. 

Bright lights were flashing and smouldering wires filled the cockpit. Woolfe ducked when a wire and a circuit board came crashing down on him and Megan brushed away the spluttering debris with her hand. 

"Report, what happened?" Megan shouted as she dodged an oncoming enemy attack fighter. 

"Starboard Propulsion down, cannot re-initiate," Fuller announced as he routed through the diagrams. "We got three direct hits on starboard, the lasers are down and intercom to Carter is down as well." 

"Shit," Megan muttered under her breath and grabbed the flight stick harder. "NAV is jammed, Fuller. The STCV reacts like a whale on a beach ..." 

"We have to retreat or go down on one of the moons ..." Woolfe muttered and tried to get the jammed stick into a normal position again. 

"Carter, do you hear me?" Megan inquired over the com but all she could hear was static. 

She swore quietly and looked over to Woolfe. 

"Go to Carter ... We have to re-establish the communications..." she looked down on his still jammed flight stick and then towards Woolfe again. "I don't know for how long I can keep this thing flying, so get her NOW." 

  


  



	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

HMS Wellington Battle bridge 0705 Zulu

Air-Commodore Coulthard watched the holographic display of the battle-scene. He frowned when he saw the icon of the supposed co-ordinates of the Dark Knight Squadron's STCV appearing dangerously near the planet Acheron. 

"Parker, get me a squadron of Tornadoes in the sky heading for Acheron on the co-ordinates of 3.9840 PDQ!" he demanded. 

"Sir, we do not have any squadrons available..." The young man replied. Perspiration was running in rivulets down his face as he sat bent over the nav systems. 

Coulthard sighed. 

_It was always the same_, he thought._ For any other STCV crew there would have been a squadron of Tornadoes available but not for the Dark Knights. They were tanks, scum_. The Air-Commodore looked over to the young officer. 

"Then make them available, Parker ... I want those birds in the sky now!" 

"Bloody tanks," Parker muttered under his breath and got onto the coms. 

* * *

45.000 MSK above Acheron 0710 Zulu

Woolfe eased himself out of the cockpit seat and made his way over to the hydraulic door, which separated the pit from the rest of the APC. Manually opening the door, he took a deep breath before stepping into the smoke filled compartment. 

"Carter!" he shouted, coughing against the smoke from smouldering wires. 

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and tried to orientate himself in the small room filled with scattered supply boxes. 

"Woolfe?" Carter asked and coughed. "Over here!" James scurried over to where the sounds came from and squatted down beside her. Taking away the debris, he swiftly examined her limbs. 

"Are you in pain?" he asked, and when he moved Carter's leg slightly she winced and nodded. 

"Aye, I think the leg's broken," she groaned again. 

"Woolfe, come in!" Chambers barked over the intercom, obviously Andy had established coms again. 

"Chambers, Carter is hurt, probably broken leg ..." 

"Get her safely strapped in ... trying to make E&E (escape & evasion) towards one of the moons." 

"Roger that, Chambers," Woolfe replied and dragged Carter over to one of the bunks in the rear of the APC. After he had safely strapped her in, he returned to the sniper seat and cleared away the debris there. Shortly checking the devices to get an overview of the damage, he switched on the com again. 

"Frontsniper is down... only laser rear guns operational. Trying to repair." 

"Roger that, Woolfe. Try to do it quickly I cannot hold her for much longer." 

Megan strained against the damaged controls, but the gravity of one of the moons already and steadily pulled them into the atmosphere of planet Acheron. 

Controls were flashing and through a haze she could hear the shouts of Anne and Andy as they tried to get the retro thrusters to work, giving them enough thrust to extract but to no avail. Slowly, the STCV sliced through the ionosphere and then the atmosphere of the planet, scorching its metal hull along the way. 

All Megan could do now was to avoid a hard crash landing to top off this awful day. 

"Woolfe, come back here!" she shouted into her com. 

By the time Woolfe returned to the cockpit, time had seemed to stretch into eternity for Megan. Her arms and hands felt as if their sinews and muscles were going to burst, rip open as she tried to keep the STCV on a less damaging course with its nose level. 

Woolfe assessed the situation in only a couple of seconds. Not waiting for Megan to notice him he strapped himself in behind her seat and gripped the flight stick, pulling it towards her to keep the STCV from ramming its nose straight into what seemed to be a massive mountain range. 

Megan could feel her arms going slack as the pull of the flight stick was taken over by Woolfe's arms however, she assisted him with her remaining strength, fearing that if she let go of the controls, the STCV would go into a roll and they would be all dead. 

"Anne, find us a flat surface, anything... but get us out of this mountain range!" Megan demanded and clenched her teeth. She could feel Woolfe doing the same behind her, feeling his breath fanning part of her neck and cheek. 

"Roger that," Anne Thurston replied as she flicked through the different LIDAR and RADAR charts, the A/SWACS system was transmitting. She soon found something which could be called a plain. 

"3.2 klicks away to starboard, heading east ... there is what appears to be a plain... A/SWACS can't get a more accurate evaluation though," she said. 

"3.2 klicks it is then ... give me the co-ords, Anne," Megan replied, easing her hands off the flightstick and punching in the co-ordinates Anne was giving her. 

* * *

"Sir, number 7-2 is down ... either shot down or ..." The voice of the tactical officer trailed away... even though he didn't particularly like tanks, he had to admit that losing a craft no matter with which crew on board was heart-tearing. 

Coulthard watched as the electronic beep of the number 7-2 squadron's STCV vanished on the icon which represented Acheron. 

Wiping his eyes wearily, he made a mental note that once the battle was over, if he was still alive and provided this tub was still functional he would send out a SAR team. But first things first, the armada of Chig battleships was only slightly retreating and wave upon wave of tri-wings still swarmed around the dreadnoughts and space craft carriers of the United Earth Force Fleet. 

* * *

The crash was rough, chucking everyone around in the cockpit and the adjoining APC. Andy got hit by a falling control board and was immediately unconscious. Anne banged her head, but apart from a cut above her eyebrow she remained in control of her senses. 

Woolfe groaned as he opened his eyes. The cockpit was filled with smoke, one of the pit's front ports was smashed and had showered him and Megan with a fine spray of sharp debris. Wiping it off his face, he only managed to rub this deeper into his skin, leaving a bleeding trail in its wake. 

After a short recces around the pit he loosened the straps and stood up. Anne was giving him a shivering thumbs up, when he leant over her. 

"You okay?" he inquired. 

"I think..." Anne said and touched the bleeding cut on her forehead tenderly. 

Checking Andy's vital signs, both were glad that he was still alive and Anne bent over Megan who had been moving slightly. 

"Boss?" the flight officer asked. 

Meg opened her eyes and took a look around. 

"I'm fine, Anne ... what about Andy and Pat?" 

"Andy is out cold and Woolfe is checking on Pat back in the APC ... As far as I'm concerned this tin-can won't be making any more flights. The front port is smashed, so be careful when you wipe your eyes or anything ... these bits and pieces of glass are deadly." 

"Ta ..." Megan replied and came up short of wiping her face. She let her hand fall down beside her again and opened the straps. Then, when her eyes took in the holes and cracks on the cockpit's front port, she jerked upright. 

"Well, at least the atmosphere is breathable," she said laconically. 

Anne Thurston grinned. 

"I will check the filters ... we have only been out for a few minutes so anything malevolent would have been taken care of by the filters or we wouldn't be here talking." 

Megan shook her head at so much nonchalance but nevertheless she handed Anne one of the emergency re-breathers. After she had put one on herself, making sure Andy had one on his face too, she set out to seal off the cracks and the hole with super perma-plast glue. 

When she was done, the filters in the pit revved back to normal and the pit was filled with the distinct but soft humming of the air vents. 

Meg and Anne hauled Andy over into the APC where Woolfe had already sorted out some of the boxes that had fallen helter skelter around the small confined space. Pat was propped up against one of the racks in the back, punching the E&E code into a TACBE (tactical beacon) but all she got from the radio was a screech of static. 

She grinned when she saw Megan and shook the TACBE. 

"Imagine, fifty thousand quid worth of equipment and a slight crash takes it out." Pat said. 

Megan almost laughed. She was relieved to see that Pat had still retained her humour. 

"Alright, let's get a little bit more comfortable here. Let's get those crates squared away and have a look if we can find some firepower and equipment." 

Half an hour later, the RAF pilots were surprised that they had hit the jackpot. Most of the equipment they had transported was for ground troops. Besides a good number of fully equipped bergens, they had enough M203s and M160s. 

The refurbished M160 with the included M203 grenade launcher was, unlike the M590, a lightweight and for some of the squaddies an antiquity rather than a working weapon. But though the weapon was first introduced into combat back in the late 20th century, it was still manufactured because of its reliability and firepower. 

Andy, who had come to by now, had rummaged around some crates in the back and had found MREs and a fair water supply which would make them independent from searching around the country side in need of food and beverages. 

Gathering all valuable and still to use goods, Megan reached down into her leg pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. 

"All right, you know the drill," she said, watching her pilots one by one. 

"Woolfe and I will pull first guard. Shifts will be two hours with two hours off-duty. Anyone advancing unknown towards the STCV will be challenged with ... " and here she looked down at her before mission report which she had handed in in duplicate form at FleetCom before their transport mission had started. "Whippet and answer is Paulie." 

She folded the report and put it back into her leg pocket. 

"Whippet!" 

"Paulie!" The pilots answered in unison. 

The pilots knew that in case of an SAR party advancing to their position the soldiers would expect to be challenged. That was the reason why those before mission reports were issued. Every CO had to fill them out, putting down the preliminary details of the mission, as well as its radio frequencies and passwords. Otherwise the SAR team could be taken for the enemy, and friendly fire was what had to be avoided. 

"All right, Woolfe, get your gear ... Andy, Anne, you two try to jury rig the TACBE and contact FLEETCOM." 

"Aye, aye, Boss," Andy said while he handed over the two M160's with enough ammo strips to keep a whole Chig squadron well under fire. 

"Better be on the safe side," he grinned. 

Woolfe helped Meg to get into her environmental suit, tucking here and there and putting the Velcro straps at the smallest possible size. The suits were uni-size and Megan was too small for them - but with the help of Woolfe she managed to just fit in. 

Setting up the gear they wanted to take with them was an easier task - Woolfe had found two medikits and ETKs (environmental test kits) and put one in each of the two backpacks. 

Megan was glad that their flight helmets fit the air vents of the life support system of the suits, getting accustomed to yet another new item would have put a certain strain on her already not too steady nerves. 

"Ready?" Meg inquired and Woolfe, nodding, hit the airlock button with a gloved fist. 

The air seemed to be sucked up from hidden vents when the doors to the main APC section closed and both pilots had the eerie feeling of being almost sucked up as well. 

Once outside they were greeted by a white sky with a milky globe as sun. There was little to almost no vegetation, consisting of thorn bushes and strange one-stemmed plants, with bright red flowers. 

Stepping off the ramp and leaving the artificial gravity of the STCV, the full extent of the heavy gravitation hit both pilots. 

"Must be about one more G than on Earth," Megan commented, her voice having a tinny sound through the com device in the helmet. 

"You bet. My arms and legs feel as if they are being dragged down towards the ground. I'll probably be an inch or so shorter after this tour." Woolfe retorted in a droll voice. 

Megan laughed. 

"Wonderful, then I might need a ladder to look over the rim of my lower bunk," she replied. "Anything on the GPS?" 

"Positive, at least the sats are still in orbit. We are at 40 degrees longitude and 72 degs latitude - Southern continent of Acheron," his breath sounded laboured as if he had just finished a cross country race. 

"Will we get used to this gravity?" he inquired. 

"If we stay long enough, certainly," Megan replied matter-of-factly - but they both hoped they weren't staying that long. 

"Let's recce the perimeter around the STCV. No good to have a Chig base right on our doorstep without us noticing," Megan commented. 

They circled the downed craft three times, widening the perimeter with each circuit. 

"Chambers, look at this!" Woolfe had squatted down in front of a bush with nasty looking sharp oblong blades. Beneath it, deeply planted into the sand was the imprint of a Chig boot. 

"Well, that answers question number one," Megan said. "There are Chigs on Acheron." 

Checking their weapons, they started out to follow the trail of foot prints. 

* * *

HMS Wellington Air-Commodore's office Zulu time

Coulthard squeezed his eyes shut - trying to block out the LIDAR data of the battle. They were taking a beating - a serious beating. The _HMS Connaught_ had taken the brunt of the initial Chig attack and was floating in-manoeuverable through space. Her captain had already ordered the personnel into the emergency safety pods, trying to repair the ship with a skeleton crew. So far, only a handful of safety pods had been able to reach the other UNEF craft. Most of the pods never had the chance to leave the flight decks as the Chigs strafed the area of the flight decks with constant fire - trapping the personnel - killing them. 

The Commodore stood up and walked the short distance to the porthole. 

So many good young men and women slaughtered or maimed, he thought as he watched the small flickers and specks of the explosions of lasers and missiles in the black vastness of space. 

The lifeless hull of the _Connaught_ came into sight floating silently away from the battle area, ever so slightly getting into a roll which soon would disable the skeleton crew - sending them into unconsciousness and certain death if they could not get the spin under control. - They had already lost radio contact with them and Coulthard was not sure what the situation was on the craft. 

Suddenly, there was an explosion on the _Connaught_, ripping open its outer hull and reverberating through the length of the decks. 

Coulthard watched, awed by the sheer beauty of the sight when the shock and terror of what he was just witnessing hit him full force. Stumbling over to his com unit he addressed the bridge officer. 

"Report!" He demanded harshly when the voice of the officer in charge came on. 

"Sir! We lost ... we lost the _Connaught_!" came the reply. 

"I just saw that ... I want to know what happened!" Coulthard replied trying to calm his racing heart and the drumming noise in his ears as his blood rushed through every vein of his body. 

"LIDAR shows that the _Connaught_ was hit by a missile, it went straight through the outer hull and exploded between flight decks thirteen and fourteen - the explosives depot, Sir." 

Coulthard closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply. The _Connaught_ lost with almost 3,000 hands ... _What a terrible price to pay in a battle where the odds were against the human race_, he thought. 

* * *

Acheron, 17:00 Zulu

"Eight bloody hours!" Andy exclaimed and threw one of the MRE containers into the waste disposal. 

Megan sighed. For two hours straight she and Woolfe had to listen to Andy's ranting and every time both of them were sure that he had run out of accusations and bickering he had started anew. 

"Andy, we needed to know where this imprint came from. Do you think we risked our lives for nothing? We didn't picnic out there, you know! Besides we had plenty of spare," Meg said and pushed herself to her feet. 

"You had about five minutes oxygen to spare and that is not what I consider PLENTY!" Andy retorted. 

"But we returned and now we know where the Chig base is and how they are equipped. You are the techie, you know we need all possible Intel to make it out of here!" 

Andy cast his eyes down to the metal floorboards. Of course he knew. But those eight hours were the longest he had ever waited. When their com signal went dead, he had almost panicked. If it hadn't been for Anne who had kept her cool, he would have suited up and made a SAR for them. 

Megan might think she was expendable, but he knew the rest of the Dark Knights depended on her. She was the only one with slightly more ground op training than the rest as an officer. 

"Well let's call it quits," Anne said and stood up. "Andy and I take first watch. While Shorty here bickered and fretted I took a well deserved nap." 

Both Andy and Anne knew that wasn't true. While Woolfe and Chambers had been on recce neither had a shut eye. 

"Boss and me take second," Woolfe volunteered. 

"That's settled then," Anne grinned and hoisted the M203. "Get thee all to bed!" She said while shooing them down the corridor towards the bunks. 

Woolfe lay awake on his rack, as did Patricia and Megan. What he and Megan had seen today had disturbed him. From the Intel they had been given at the briefing back on the Wellington Acheron was a deserted planet, too unimportant for either a Chig or Human base. The spooks had been wrong. 

"Do you think they have noticed the crash?" Pat asked into the darkness. 

"If not they must be more foolish than the spooks back on the _Wellie_," Woolfe snorted. 

"I think they know," Megan cut in. "But they probably think we didn't survive the crash or thought it was a satellite. Otherwise we would have them swarming on our doorstep by now." 

"Any chance we can get by unnoticed?" Pat asked. 

"Fat chance, Pat. I told you they have laser sensors on their perimeter and a huge LIDAR and RADAR dish on their base. I've never seen anything like that. It is better secured than the Bank of England." 

"And don't forget the mine fields," Woolfe added. "I don't know how they manage to get through them, but they do - as if they have a bloody built-in sensor." 

He recalled the base site. It had been a huge, triangular construction which seemed to look like the faceted eye of an insect or the honeycomb of a bee hive. On every three to five yards on the perimeter lasers had been erected which reacted in a split second. The unfortunate native animal which had been caught in the sensors while they had recced the place was evaporated before he could say Jack Rabbit. 

It was a fortress - and a deadly one too. 

* * *

Anne Thurston and Andy Fuller had suited up and were guarding their sleeping crew mates. Thurston had scrolled up her NVG-visor of her flight helmet to the highest notch to see better though the landscape she was looking at was a black and white monochrome. She knew that she would be blinded by a sudden attack. 

With the NVG visor set up so high even the slightest bright speck would flare like the sun. She shrugged and hefted the M203 in her hands. The weapon felt uncomfortable and unusual in her hands as she was more used to either her flightstick or the smaller semi-automatic pistol all RAF pilots had in case they needed to defend themselves after a crash landing. 

The gravity of the planet made her steps heavy and her breath soon was laboured. 

"Hey, Thurston, you sound as if you have just lost the Iron Woman competition," even through the com Anne could feel him grinning despite his own wheezing voice. 

"You don't sound too good either, Andy," she retorted half-heartedly. 

"Point taken," he gave up too easily for Anne's liking but the gravity on planet was heavy and she wasn't in the mood to crack jokes at the moment anyway. 

Both RAF pilots circled the perimeter. Careful where they set foot they tried to keep in each others peripheral vision. 

"Do you think we will get off this dump?" Andy asked all of a sudden. 

Anne shrugged, though with the heavy body armour she was wearing it was a non-recognizable gesture. 

"I don't know ... to tell you the truth, I don't want to think about all of this. It is scary to muse about the IFs. Besides, I'm sure the Boss will get us out of here." 

"True," Andy replied. 

  


  



	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

HMS Wellington, Procyon Sector, 08:40 Zulu

Air-Commodore Coulthard was angry. For the last twelve hours after the complete destruction of the _Connaught_, he had been in a debrief with the senior Command Staff. 

Of the seven high ranking generals, commodores and other officers present no-one seemed to understand how serious the situation was. 

The initial battle should have taken place about 400 MSKs further away from Acheron and Erynis - where the fleet could have manoeuvered more easily than in the small flight corridor of the two moons.  
They had stormed right into a trap. Instead of taking a day or two to detour the dangerous passage the fleet had taken the risk of flying straight through - what a waste of lives and material. 

Since the destruction of the _Connaught_, two more carriers had been disabled - one even crashing down on Erinys, resulting in a giga-ton explosion on planet. The technicians and Aerotech specialists still were not certain what consequences might come from that. One thing was sure though - the radiation had killed any life forms on planet, native as well as alien. 

The Air-Commodore squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. His first and foremost task now was to keep his squadrons together - and retrieve the ones that had been grounded on planet - like the Dark Knights. 

There was no telling whether the RAF squadron had survived the crash though it had been confirmed that the satellites around Acheron had been contacted via GPS on planet shortly after the crash. 

Coulthard went over to the head to splash his face with water. 

_To _hell_ with the top brass_, he thought. _All they wanted to do was covering their own behinds concerning this ill-planned mission_. 

He was determined to save his men and women. This was his tub and all hands on it were his responsibility. 

If the top brass didn't realise the enormity of this battle and the losses from that - _he_ certainly did and he wanted to make sure that all of his crew were safe. 

The Chigs seemed to be retreating but all through the ship the blasts of lasers as well as the missiles could be heard. Wave after wave, the Chigs still flew their attacks. It was as if they knew that the fleet was about to break up and they wanted their kill. 

_Time to get back on the bridge_, he thought and, straightening his uniform, he made his way back to the command centre. 

The red alert lamps cast an eerie light throughout the _Wellington_ as Commodore Coulthard went back to the bridge. All around him the sailors as well as the other Navy personnel swarmed like midges. The blasts reverberated through the whole ship but up till now, the _Wellie_ stood her ground. 

"Sir, the _Canberra_ just broke out of formation, Sir," Coulthard was greeted by a tired voice void of any emotion. 

"Get her on the com PDQ!" he ordered. 

"Yessir." 

"_Canberra_, over?!" 

"...Repeat cannot evade, flight decks seven to eighteen are open to space, sections cannot be sealed off, the ship is inmanoeuvarable. The nuclear engines have been hit, we are floating ..." there was static to be heard, then the voice of the Commander of the _Canberra_ was heard again. 

"The _ Canberra_ is dead ... May God help us all ..." 

A few seconds later, they could feel the blast of the explosion on the bridge as particles and debris of the _Canberra_ hit the outer hull of the _Wellington_. 

* * *

Acheron, 09:00 hours

The night according to ship time had come and gone uneventfully. Megan and Woolfe had pulled two more shifts - quietly conversing with each other over the comlinks as they had watched the sky lighting up overhead. Every time it did so, Megan asked herself if the cause was a ship of the Fleet or one of the Chigs. 

They had both agreed that all of them needed to be extracted from planet PDQ but neither were sure if there was a _Wellington_ still to return to. During the small hours of the morning, they had made out activity in the direction of the Chig base and both knew they couldn't stand up against a fully armed and equipped Chig division. 

Woolfe had volunteered to help Andy getting the TACBE operational again and salvage bits and pieces from the pit to see if they could jury-rig a similar device. 

Megan was glad that Woolfe had obviously overcome his initial depression and she supported the young pilot as much as she could but not without supporting the rest of her crew with all her might. 

The young woman was determined to save them - now more than ever. Last night, although she had tried not to show it as obviously as Woolfe had, the sight of the Chig installation had shook her to her deepest roots. From the size of it she estimated about three cohorts of Chig squadrons were installed there. Too many to take with a surprise attack by far. Besides, they were RAF and not Army or Navy ground pounders. 

Woolfe stood at one of the cargo holds and bent over a chart he had been working on since the early hours of the morning. After they had scanned the area of the crash, he had meticulously marked down all landmarks on a piece of paper. With the GPS he had even outlined the exact measurements between their crash site and the Chig base location. 

Megan had not noticed she had stared at his strong back for quite a while and when she finally noticed she sighed inwardly and rubbed her eyes. She had to get them out of here, whatever it would cost her personally.  
Meg walked over to the bunks and looked after Carter's leg. It was swollen and the wound had already started to fester. Megan knew that the leg needed especial care but here on planet she couldn't provide that and more over the leg needed urgent surgery - surgery to remove it rather than mend it. 

"Are you in pain?" Meg asked and Pat shook her head. 

"Only when I try to stand up to go to the head, but Andy helped me," Pat replied. "Do you know how humiliating that is? I really thought of keeping _that_ little mystery to myself." 

Megan grinned lop-sided. 

"Well you know the proverb, Everything's fair in love and war." She was glad that Pat had not lost her humour. She was just hoping that it would stay on. 

"I better get back to relieve Anne," Megan said and stood up. But as she stepped away from the bunk, Pat held her back with one shivering hand. 

"We'll get back, won't we?" she asked, all of a sudden very serious. 

Megan hesitated but then pasted a smile on her face to reassure her squadron mate. 

"Of course, we will, don't you worry." 

* * *

Ever since the _Connaught_ and the _Canberra_ had been destroyed, Coulthard had harbored a deadly anger deep inside of himself. The meetings with SPACECom and the top brass of the fleet annoyed him to the limit. There was no reasoning with them. 

_We don't have enough personnel to send out for SAR!_ they had said, no personnel indeed. Seven SAR units had been dispatched to look for the son of an American Congressman. 

_Ratbastards_, he thought and grinned despite himself. He had picked up too many slang words from the Yanks stationed on his tub. 

Thinking of Yanks, his thoughts were drawn to Chambers and her squadron. Being a half-American, a tankbrat and leader of an all tank squadron must be hell and he wondered how she fared down there on Acheron. 

He sighed and let the last coordinates appear on his control panel again. He had to get them out of there, no personnel or not. 

He was thus deep in thought that he almost didn't notice the young officer standing beside him, clearing his throat. 

"What is it, Frankel?" Coulthard asked irritated. 

"Sir, the first SAR teams are enroute back to the _Wellington_, the first to return will be the number four-eight squadron. Upon hearing that the number seven-two squadron has crashed, Wing Commander McDougal has asked permisison to be assigned to the number seven-two SAR team once they are back onboard." 

"McDougal, you say?" Coulthard wiped his eyes wearily as he tried to put a face to that name. 

"WC McDougal was CO of Chambers and her squadron back at Glenarfon Barracks, Innsworth, Sir," the officer replied. 

"Ah yes, tell him permission denied. The brass will need him for another mission." 

"Aye, Sir ..." the young officer replied and suppressed a sigh. _McDougal wouldn't be amused_, he thought. 

"And, Frankel ...," Coulthard called him back with a definite edge to his voice. "The next time you get back to me I want to hear that the SAR teams have found the son of that Congressman, understood?" 

"Aye, aye, Sir." Frankel swallowed. 

* * *

Woolfe was standing at the air-lock when Meg came in. He looked over his shoulder when he heard her footsteps and grinned. 

"Time to get a fresh whiff of air," he said laconically and Meg sighed. 

"As if I didn't know," she replied. 

Andy had been the first who had tested the air and its breathability. It was non-toxic and had slightly more oxygen than Earth' atmosphere. After several more tests, Andy had gotten out without a helmet for a quick roundabout of the crashed STCV.   
When he had come back he made a V-sign and ever since, the pilots had made their sentries without their flighthelmets, only with normal combat helmets. Of course, they had been relieved. The EVA suits had been heavy and with the higher gravity, even five pounds of equipment was heavy to boot but Megan still had a nagging feeling. She felt vulnerable without her helmet and she had a certain feeling of doom creeping up her back. 

The weather on Acheron was always the same, dry, without any wind to stir the dust and dirt on planet.   
Woolfe and Chambers had circled the APC and were advancing towards higher ground, overlooking the small plain they had crashed on. 

Only little by little, the pilots realised that the light of Acheron, powered by a huge gas giant millions of MSKs away, went dimmer.   
Over the past days they had become accustomed to the glaring light during the day so the sudden twilight came as a surprise. 

"Guess Acheron's sun has a three day cycle. I just hope that time we called night was really the night," Woolfe commented, after checking the GPS and made some triangulation. "Heard anything about Chigs loving darkness?" 

Megan snorted. 

"Dunno, your bet is as good as mine," she retorted, somewhat sharper than she had intended. 

Woolfe's head jerked up and after a minute or two of staring at each other, Meg shrugged her shoulders, the gesture not very revealing in an EVA combat suit, even without the heavy oxygen tank on their backs. 

Silence drew between them until the female officer sighed and nudged her com link with her chin. 

"I'm sorry, James," she said and Woolfe turned his helmeted head. 

"No problem, Boss, we all get edgy sometimes ... especially these days." 

It still amazed Megan that Woolfe, despite his poor InVitro upbringing, was so insightful. When they got off this planet, she was determined to treat him to a couple of pints, just to make up to him for her moods. 

In silence they circled the perimeter, cursing beneath their breaths while the sun grew dimmer and dimmer. After several minutes, the two pilots were not able to see their hands in front of them, and first Meg then Woolfe put on their NVGs. According ship time they would still have about three hours day light left, so this sudden twilight came as a surprize. When Erynis rose over the horizon, it was in form of fiery ball, so different from the gentle almost peaceful looking planet they had seen every afternoon for the past two days. 

It seemed as if the planet had been painted with day-glow colours, a pulsing fire wall spreading over the surface of the planet, burning everything in its wake. 

"Shit!" Woolfe exclaimed and pointed at the sky. "That must have been a hell of a big ship." 

"At least Marauder Class ... if not bigger ..." Chambers replied. They exchanged a short glance. They both knew that only nine ships in the fleet were big enough to cause fireworks like that, and the _Wellington_ was one of them. 

* * *

HMS Wellington - 03:00 Zulu Time

When WC McDougal climbed out of the pit of his Tornado, he could only barely control his foul mood. Being of Scottish descent, he had a fiery temper and he was mightily pissed off right now. 

"Duncan!" Brian Lutham-Stokely, McDougal's navigator stepped away from the cockpit and held him back. When he noticed the dead cold look on his friend and CO, he swallowed. 

"Bri, be a good chap and let go if you don't want to end up in the infirmary," Duncan growled and looked first at the restraining hand on his shoulder and then into his navigator's face. 

Brian smirked at that although he knew what McDougal was capable of, he had not been first in boxing at Cambridge for nothing. 

"You don't help Chambers and her squad one bit if you end up in the brig," The young navigator said. 

Duncan McDougal closed his eyes for a moment, then he nodded. 

"You are right, Bri ..." Duncan knew that he wouldn't be a great help if he grounded his whole squadron just because he couldn't get his anger under control. 

Looking at his men from one to the other, he made his way towards their quarters. 

Coulthard had been standing in the briefing room and had witnessed the short exchange between the two men through the glass windows. He knew what McDougal felt. He might not know the man as much as he would like to but he could relate to his feelings. Chambers and her tanks either generated love or hate and in this case, Coulthard was certain, McDougal felt love. 

After Frankel had mentioned the number four-eight squadron, he had pulled McDougal's dossier and had read about the man. Coming from a long list of officers for both RAF and Army, Duncan McDougal was an exceptional aviator and CO. He had been in Cambridge, where he had read law and then had moved on to Innsworth as instructor. Chambers had been his protegé from the start, and the Scot had made sure she was not discriminated. Coulthard knew his orders to look for the American serviceman first would cause a lot of tension between himself and McDougal. 

_On the other hand_, Coulthard thought, _one squadron of Tornadoes more or less wouldn't make that big a difference in the search with the battle still going on._

Sighing, the Commodore turned and headed towards the corridors where the RAF pilots were still conversing with each other. 

"Wing Commander McDougal!" 

"Sir," the pilots said in unison as they saluted and stood to attention. 

"At ease, gentlemen. Wing Commander ... a word with you ... in private, if you please," Coulthard said. 

After the pilots had quickly dismissed themselves with all due respect and speed, Coulthard led McDougal into the briefing room beyond the flightdeck. 

"I was informed that you volunteered your squadron for a SAR mission, Wing Commander?" 

"Yessir, that is correct. The number four-eight squadron asks to look for their MIA comrades, the number seven-two squadron who supposedly crashed down on Acheron ... Sir!" McDougal replied, adding the respectful title somewhat reluctantly. 

"Negative, McDougal, I cannot spare one squadron until this battle is won or until we have found that missing crewman ..." 

"With all due respect, Sir, but there are _five_ crewmen down there on Acheron ..." 

"Which we do not know for certain, McDougal!" Coulthard squeezed his eyes shut for a short moment, then raised his hand in silent admonition. 

"I know ... we both _know_ that the number seven-two squadron is on Acheron, it is the gut feeling we have, but first things first. For the moment, Chambers and her squaddies are safe down there - it is probably the safest place in this part of the universe." Coulthard sighed. "All we can do right now, is to make certain they are down there and not pieces of hardware floating around in the Strait of Acheron and Erynis." 

McDougal nodded and yet, he had this gut feeling as Coulthard had called it, that the number seven-two squadron was not as safe as both men wanted to be believe. 

"Sir, this officer asks permission to go on SAR for the missing crewman in the vicinity of Acheron and Erynis ..." 

"Permission granted, McDougal ..." he noticed the fleeting smile on the other man's face. "But, McDougal, your first ordnance is to search and rescue or retrieve the missing American crewman. If on the grounds you are successful you can follow the second ordnance ..." 

"Aye, Sir," McDougal answered and from the tone of his voice, he ment it. 

  


  



	6. Chapter Six and Epilogue

Chapter Six

Acheron Zulu Time [21:39 Shipboard]

The RAF pilots were on the last leg of their sentry duty when they climbed one of the higher ridges around their crashed APC. At the horizon they could make out the triple-domed Chig base. Woolfe squatted at the ridge of the small mountain and watched the base through his binocs. Megan was scanning the plain below them where the APC had crashed. 

"Any activity?" the young woman asked and looked back to her crew mate. 

"It looks peaceful, too peaceful for my liking and I only make out four Chigs ... last time we checked there were at least eight chigs patroling the vicinity. They are definitely up to something." 

Chambers had squatted down beside him, and now she took the binoculars from him and checked herself. While she swept over the countryside with the binocs, she suddenly noticed movement farther off to the Chig base. 

"Get on the radio, Woolfe, we are getting company," she stated matter of factly. 

"Where?" He asked, while he got onto the com to their crashed STCV. 

"Two Chig squadrons, six per squad, North-North East, it will take them about thirty to forty mikes till their reach the STCV." 

After Woolfe had relayed the info to his squad mate, he grabbed his weapon. 

"We need about ten mikes if we run!" he said, and was already halfway down the hill. Megan was more slowly, as she had noticed something else. Two Chig fighters had been boarded and started their take off sequences. 

Shoving the binocs carelessly into her bergen, she threw the back-pack onto her shoulder, grabbed the M203 and ran. 

"We have to make it UNDER ten minutes, Woolfe. They're sending out the cavalary. Two fighters are about to take off." 

She switched on the com and Andy's voice wavered into the speakers. 

"Yo, Boss, we are already putting up defences." 

"Forget the defences, grab a couple of bergens and Pat and then all of you get out of the STCV, prepare for incoming!" she shouted into the com link. 

* * *

Andy and Anne rushed to the cargo holds and grabbing the bergens, without checking them, they threw bits and pieces into them. Patricia, who watched them siltently, propped herself up and tried to help them as best as could. 

"How much time left?" Anne shouted while she put ammo clips into one of the smaller back-packs. 

Andy, without stopping what he was doing, checked his watch. "Five mikes, get a move on, Thurston!" 

Anne only nodded and helped Pat onto her feet. Hauling her off the bunk she slung the backpack over one shoulder, while she had Pat in a firm grip on her other. Together they made it just out of the APC when the first impacts of laser fire rocked the steel shell. Pat heavily slumped against Anne Thurston but the Flight Officer kept going, dragging her injured crewmate with her. 

"Come on!" Andy yelled and waved frantically from behind a boulder. He was scanning the area for Woolfe and Chambers and let out a yelp of relief when he saw them both speeding towards his position. 

"Andy, come in ... what is the situation?" Megan's voice crackled over the com, her breathing ragged from the fierce running. 

"We have just abandoned ship and now we are evading," he checked the GPS. "ETA is four klicks North, position 1.824." 

"We'll meet you there," came the short reply of Megan and they both headed into a different direction. Andy watched them while Pat and Anne reached his hiding place. When Anne nudged him, Andy, without looking away from his binocs, handed her the GPS. 

"They are trying to draw fire to themselves," he explained and snapped the binocs shut. "Hopefully it will give us enough time to reach the safe place..." 

Anne simply nodded to that and ducked her head when debris of another blast rained down on them. She jerked her head up when she heard a soft groan coming from Pat. Quickly, she scrambled over to her side and examined her. A huge open wound was gaping on Pat's back and when she saw the dead staring eyes of her crew mate, Anne knew she was dead. 

"I'm sorry, Patsy, rest in peace," the young woman whispered and put her gently down onto the ground. She almost did not hear the strangled sound coming from Andy as he realised that his mate and lover was dead. 

"She can't be!" he yelled, leaving his position to come over to the two women. "Anne, you should have taken care of her ... it is your ..." 

Anne slapped him hard before he could continue. "Don't you dare tell me!" she cried harshly. "If it is anyone's fault - it's the Chigs'! Not me, not you, not even her own fault, do you hear?!" 

* * *

HMS Wellington, Procyon Sector, 21:59 Zulu

Commodore Coulthard was about to rip the ears off his aide, when he barged in again. But he bit down on the expletive when he saw two tired, but obviously cheerful smiles of the two young officers standing in front of his hatch. 

"What is it, Peters?" he asked with a sigh, ignoring Lt. Frankel who hovered like a skittish hawk at Peters back. 

Before Peters could reply to his CO, Frankel stepped in front of him. 

"Sir, sorry to interrupt, but .. Sir ... we have received a tracking beacon from the crash site of the number seven-two squadron. We have found the Knights!" There was a definite cheer in his voice. 

Coulthard grinned and nodded towards the two young officers. _That_ was a good reason to disturb the solitude in his cabin. He went over to the com and was immediately put through to the three squadrons heading the SAR. He requested two of them to continue searching while he ordered McDougal and his men to Acheron. 

* * *

Acheron - 4 klicks North of crash site

The Chigs had barricaded themselves behind a natural wall of stones and were firing salvo after salvo of their deadly photon blasters. 

The RAF pilots had dug themselves in - trying to make as much cover out of their little trench as they could. The attack had been a surprise for the four of them. They had not counted on the fact that the Chigs would back track them. 

"How many ammo clips do you have left?" Meg asked, as she checked her belt. 

Woolfe unclipped one from his belt and handed it over to Meg without even looking at her. 

"Got five left," he said. "What about you, Andy?" 

"Six, and three smarties," the young IV replied. 

"Good - use them wisely," Meg replied and took aim. 

Chig after Chig came forward like a wave on the beach. The only reason they hadn't overrun the pilots' trench was that they had to cross a small rivulet and both friend and foe knew what damage the water could cause. 

"We have to get back to the APC, Boss. I'm sure we can take them out with the laser blaster!" Andy cried. He had only three clips of ammo left and he cursed himself that he had not brought more spare.   
Gritting his teeth he took aim more carefully - _one shot - one kill_. 

Thurston slipped over to Meg, carefully avoiding the blasters hitting the rocks behind them. 

"Boss, how about we use one or two of the smarties on that bunch of Chigs over there," she nudged her head to their right flank, where three Chigs advanced slowly to a rocky surface. 

Like their tri-wings, Chigs always did everything in threes and if those could hop over the rivulet, they would be in trouble. 

Meg nodded. Trust Anne to come up with an idea. She moved closer, not taking her eyes off the firing Chigs. 

"So what do you have in mind?" she inquired. 

"Two of us have to get up there and with a smartie or two we can take them out. That ridge is really troubling me, any adventurous Chig can jump off it and by any luck hit our side of the rivulet. Then we are done in," Thurston replied. 

"I know," the young Flight Lieutenant answered. Nudging her com link, she contacted Woolfe and Carter. 

"Woolfe, Carter, Anne and I will be doing a little exercise." 

"Negative, Boss, you know the drill ... either you or Annie." Andy's voice wavered over the com." 

"So you are volunteering, Andy?" Megan asked. 

"No, Boss, but I do," Woolfe's voice was firm over the com. 

Exchanging a look with Anne, both women nodded. 

"I stay with Andy, you two go," Anne smirked. "I know I can't keep you away from the fun." 

Megan exchanged a glance with Woolfe and then they moved away from the two firing pilots. They soon had covered the few yards to the rocky ridge and started climbing. The first few feet upward were not a problem with all the armour and ammo, but as they reached the top, the ridge went horizontally out above their heads but after much free-rapelling, grunting and shoving, the two RAF pilots reached the top ... and almost ran straight into two Chigs who had had the same idea and were just about to set their feet onto the ridge a couple of metres away. 

Woolfe was the first to open fire on them and Megan was only a couple of seconds behind him. One Chig died instantly, the gas from within his armour hissing in the warmth of the day, while the other Chig hid behind one of the upright boulders on top of the ridge. 

Megan, still in a crouching position, landed flat on her belly, giving the Chig as little target practice as possible. Woolfe was about to do the same when a shot rang out - one single shot deafening all other soudns of the battle. Megan cried out, not sure if she had been the target or Woolfe, but when she saw the swaying figure of the tall pilot beside her, she knew without a doubt that John had been hit. 

Without a second thought, Megan threw first one then the second smart grenade. First sending the Chig behind the boulder into oblivion and when she heard the detonation of the second beyond the ridge, she knew she had taken out some more Chigs. Squeezing her eyes shut for the moment, she slowly rolled onto her back, only to see Woolfe still on his feet but dangerously close to the edge. Time had stopped, or so it seemed. 

At first, Megan had difficulties to comprehend what was going on but when the rope around her middle was violently jerking at her, cutting her almost in two at her hip, she cried out in pain and surprize. Her mind registering almost lazily that Woolfe had disappeared beyond the edge and that the rope suffocating her was dragging her down as well. 

Gripping the nearest rock, she groaned when the impact of Woolfe's body hit the rope and cutting even deeper through the garments of her uniform. Propping herself against one of the boulders she slowly tried to haul Woolfe up again when she heard his voice over the com. 

"Megan, cut it or I will ..." his breathing was laboured and the gurgling in his voice did not bode well. 

"You better shut up and help me, Woolfe," Megan spat out. "Get your fucking hands onto the rope and get yourself upright so we both can climb down!" 

Woolfe squeezed his eyes shut for a couple of times to get rid of the dizziness and did as he was told. When he had found sure footing, he let Megan know and he was relieved when he saw her small form advancing down towards him. A wave of nausea washed over him and before he knew what was happening, his hands lost its grip on the rock and he fell the last few feet onto the hard ground, dragging Megan with him. 

* * *

The number four-eight squadron veered and banked right in unison, as it left the formation of the other two squadrons. The call had just come in and while they slowed their travel speed to wait for an STCV catching up with them, Duncan McDougal coudl not suppress a grin twitching the corners of his mouth. 

His navigator on the back seat thumped his shoulder in silence, both men relieved that they had found the Knights at last. 

* * *

Amidst the blasts of the still incoming fire, Megan sat on the ground, Woolfe's blood already coagulating beneath her. 

"Woolfe!" Megan cried and tried to cover the gaping stomach wound with her own hands. Warm blood was making it difficult for Meg to keep her gore slicked hands on the wound. 

"Boss," Woolfe breathed, his eyes staring in disbelief into Megan's face. "I feel so cold ..." 

"Shh, don't speak, James, please, don't speak. I'll get you back to the APC ..." Megan cried and put his head into her lap after she had managed to put a make-shift dressing onto the wound. 

They crouched there together. Andy was still firing, as was Anne. But they didn't notice it. Megan had the strange sensation that all noise was deadened all of a sudden. All she could hear was Woolfe's heavy breathing and her own choking breath. 

"I will die, right?" Woolfe asked suddenly. "Don't lie to me, Meg, I know what a stomach wound means ..." 

"You will not die, James," she said softly, swallowing her tears. "We'll get you out of here and off this sodding planet." 

Woolfe smiled at that and raised a shivering hand to her face. 

"You are lying, Boss, but I forgive you," James said. The young woman shook her head and took his hand into hers. 

"Just you wait, James, we will laugh about this when we are back on the Wellie." 

"Aye, sure we will," the young In-Vitro sighed and a shiver ran through his body. 

"Megan ..." he breathed, his eyes fixed on her face. "Megan, I ... I never told you this ... but ... " 

"Shh, don't speak, James it can wait." Megan replied softly. 

"No it can't ... Megan ... you ... I mean ... I don't have family, like any of us and .. and ... all I have is you and this RAF signet ring ... Take it ... please," James said and Megan had to strain her ears to hear him. 

"James," she replied and shook her head no. Tears ran down her face but she could not hold them back. 

"Please, I want you to have it ... to remember me by," the InVitro's breath was more laboured than before. "You are our mother, not only our CO. You were there when we ... I needed you ... I ... never told you this ... but ... but I think you're a wonderful woman ..." 

Megan stared at him, hugging him like a little child while she listened silently to him. She was shaken by his confession and proud that she had touched the heart of this fine man. 

Gently she touched him with her fingertips, ignoring the reek of blood and sweat - the reek of death. She helped him when he slipped the ring off his finger. The ring was heavy and far too big when James slipped it onto her ring finger. It seemed like a travesty of the exchange of rings at a marriage and somehow, Megan felt as if this was as life changing as a marriage could have been. 

"Megan?" Woolfe asked, and Megan held him closer. 

"I'm here, James." 

"Will you do me a favour?" 

"Sure, whatever it is, James ..." Megan's voice trailed away. 

"Kiss me ... I ... I never have been kissed ... I know that will be the last time ... and ... I just don't want to die ... without ... 

The young woman touched his lips with her fingertips and nodded her head. She understood. After so many years spent together they understood each other without words. James had never been loved, had never felt the loving touch of a woman beside the more maternal and friendly touches of herself and his squadmates. 

She bent down, her shivering lips only inches away from his. Their lips touched. It was an innocent kiss, a kiss which bonded rather than ignited passion. Megan realised that this was it. In the end there was only love and respect for each other. No pain - no anger at death. Just the love and respect and the sure knowledge of loss. 

Woolfe's eyes fluttered shut, his breathing laboured. 

"I love you, Megan," she heard James whisper and a shudder went through his entire body. 

"You will not die, Woolfe! WOOLFE? Don't leave me! Do you hear me? DON'T YOU DARE DIE ON ME!" 

The young officer grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him until she realised how stupid and irrational her action was. Taking in a deep breath she steadied herself and bent down over Woolfe. 

The big In-Vitro was gone. His lifeless shell cradled in her arms. 

* * *

Megan was jerked out of her stupor when she heard a shout. She looked up and saw that Andy was slowly - too slowly - sliding down further into the ditch, his eyes staring widely at her. 

"Andy!" Anne shouted and while still firing at the Chigs, she grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him up again. 

To Megan it seemed as if these seconds stretched into eternity. She crawled over to Andy and out of training rather than conscious thought she checked his vital signs. Nothing. 

Grabbing his M203, she pulled him towards Woolfe and joined Anne. Firing like a mad woman, she was not able to think straight. All she knew was that the Chigs had to pay. Three of her officers had been killed by those bastards and it was payback time. 

Anne was the first who stopped firing. Over the racket of the photon blasters she heard the unmistakable sound of thruster revving into gear. When the first detonations forced them to get behind their trench, Anne had to grab her CO. Megan had not stopped firing, had used up every shell. 

"Stop it, Meg!" Anne shouted hear her ear and shook her hard. "Listen!" 

Above five Tornadoes in diamond formation strafed the remaining Chig squadron with constant fire while a STCV landed nearby. Dragging Meg away from the bodies of their friends and towards the Royal Marines who jumped out of the STCV, Anne stumbled towards the craft. 

Megan wound herself out of Anne's grip and stopped one of the Marines, it was Captain Jamieson of the 22nd Royal Marines Squadron. 

"Get the bodies!" she said and the Marine nodded. "Don't worry, Flight Lieutenant Chambers, we will," he answered grimly and nodded. 

* * *

HMS Wellington   
Epilogue

Megan Louise Chambers watched as the coffins were put onto the airchute releases on flight deck 7. The pilots from the number four-eight squadron had slowly carried them in after the chaplain had draped them with the Union Jack. Slowly, the pilots, lead by their CO Wing Commander Duncan McDougal, had lined themselves up beside the two lone survivors. Meg felt the brush of Duncan's arm on her shoulder, but she was unable to look up or give any sign to tell him she appreciated his presence. 

Now, as Chambers and Thurston raised their arms in silent salute, giving their dead friends and comrades their last fare-well, Coulthard came forward. The Air Commodore opened a small, well-worn book of poetry and started reading: 

"If I should die think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field that is forever England. There shall be in that rich Earth a richer dust concealed; a dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware ..." his voice broke off then and the chaplain spoke a few words from the Psalters and the two remaining officers of the seven-two watched as the coffins were released into space through an air-chute while Air Commodore Coulthard and a Warrant Officer were neatly folding the Union Jacks into triangular shaped packets. 

Chambers directed her dry eyes away from the closing air-chutes to the flight deck port and she watched the coffins with her friends' remains floating through the endless night of space. When she turned she was surprised to find the Commodore and the honour-guard still present. 

Air Commodore Coulthard saluted her and as the guard lined up on both sides of Chambers and Thurston to form some sort of corridor, Coulthard presented the folded flags with the Flight Lieutenant stripes of their dead comrades neatly placed on it. Meg stared at the medals and stripes which had been posthumously given to her tank squad and she swallowed hard. 

_Too late_, her mind screamed, clutching her fist with the signet ring. In a haze she heard the Commodore's words. 

"In the name of His Majesty's Royal Air Force we present you these flags of honour of those fallen in this war. They were our brothers and sisters, our family and they will live in the memory of those who remain ..." 

Meg clutched the flags to her chest and waited until the officers had filed out of the flight deck slowly. 

Suddenly, she remembered something she had promised her Uncle Mac a long time ago. Back then in her childish naivety, she had wanted to look after all IVs, had wanted to take care of them, keep them safe. 

On Acheron she had not been able to do that, her friends had died. She had failed them. Closing her eyes, she tried to suppress the rage at herself. She should have been in one of those coffins, not her friends who all had so much life to catch up with. The burning pain inside almost choked her, and she wondered if it ever went away. But she knew that it wouldn't, the pain would stay and it would always remind her of her loss and her shame. It was the burden of those who remain. 

The End

© [Una Fritz][1] March 1998 - January 2001 

  


  


   [1]: mailto:USMCSpace@gmx.net?subject=fanfic



	7. Notice

  


  


  


This is it ... the end of Part One of the **Honoris Certamen** (Battle of Recognition) series.  
  
Meg Chambers' story continues with Honoris Certamen 2: A CLASS OF ITS OWN - http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=229267 

Thank you for reading and reviewing,  
Una 


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